A Pocket of Quiet
by Alphard
Summary: Set some time after Severus changes sides in the war against Voldemort. Partly on the war and how people end up having to do things no person should ever need to handle, but mostly on Severus Snape.


_Notes:_

Clearly, I am still terrible at titles.

This is based on a premise in my earlier work (Walking the Tightrope_): that Severus started working for _both_ Voldemort and Dumbledore immediately after graduation, and spent his time passing information both ways, amount and accuracy depending on whose side he was on at the time. I work with a fairly complex interpretation of the dynamics between Remus and Severus (not slash, no, but strange nonetheless) which is built up across the First Year Triptych, _Walking the Tightrope_ and _Tide_. While I don't believe it's impossible to follow this if you haven't read any of those other fics, it's certainly more difficult and I think I've already managed to confuse a few people who are new to my fic. I'm very sorry about that; I forgot that not everyone sees the character dynamics the way I do._

For the purposes of this fic Severus and Remus are somewhere between twenty-one and twenty-two: shortly before Harry's birth, a couple of years after Severus switches sides.

Finished 08 January 2005

* * *

**A Pocket of Quiet**

"Severus, wait up."

"What? Oh. Evan." Severus turned. Evan Rosier was several years older than Severus but seemed somewhat younger, lacking in the trademark Slytherin viciousness. He was, however, brilliant academically, and Severus had spent quite a lot of his free time in Hogwarts studying with Evan. "What's the matter?"

"This." Evan handed him a twisted fragment of parchment and a sealed scroll. "You didn't come for the dinner Lucius held yesterday."

"There was a staff meeting. I couldn't leave. Besides, I came today." _All this solidarity. A sort of dry run for the future._ Severus looked at the things, mouth twisting. "Not again."

"I'm afraid so." Evan paused. Severus sighed inwardly. _Why are you here, Evan?_ Evan was _normal,_ didn't even seem to care much for class politics. He would have been in Ravenclaw if not for the fact that his family had been Slytherin for the last hundred years or so and proud of it, and now he was probably a Death Eater for the same reason. "I know… information retrieval…" Severus felt his fingers writhe. _Torture. Wonderful things, euphemisms._ "It's not exactly your idea of fun and games." Evan nodded at the twisted parchment. "I saved that for you. I hope it'll make it easier."

Saving assignments for information retrieval was technically against the rules although everyone did it at some point, which meant Evan thought he was performing a minor favour for Severus. He smoothed out the parchment on his palm. "Oh." Then, realising that Evan was expecting something else, "Thank you."

"Glad to be of help. I know you didn't like him."

"I should be getting back to Hogwarts," Severus muttered, pushing the parchment and its accompanying scroll into his pocket, moving off briskly. Evan had been a fairly close acquaintance at school, but Severus found it terrifying how matter-of-factly he took everything, as if what he did for a living wasn't that much different from a desk job at Gringotts. Severus didn't know how exactly Evan Rosier performed his tasks, and wasn't sure if he wanted to find out.

When he was safely back in his office Severus looked at the name on the parchment again before tossing it into the fireplace. Evan had saved it specially for him, hoping to help a junior out.

_Remus J. Lupin._

Better if he'd just drawn a name out of a sack, like he was supposed to.

Severus watched the parchment blacken and burn, frowning pensively.

.

Remus was awake before he opened his eyes. _Not again._

He'd been doing nothing worse than walking along the street, and something had struck him in the back, between his shoulderblades, not particularly hard. But he'd lost consciousness, and now – this.

_You'd think they'd give up after a while._ Except there was something wrong, this time; he hadn't been tied up – _no restraint at all_ – and there was something sticking into his leg that Remus was fairly certain was his wand.

Maybe he'd been mugged, and he was lying in some alley in London.

_Ridiculous._ His cheek was pressed against what felt a lot like carpet, and good carpet at that. Remus opened his eyes, cautiously, and found himself staring at a wall. It took some time for his eyes to adjust to the dim light.

He couldn't hear any movement and he certainly couldn't see anything, so he reached slowly for his wand, counted to three, and then pulled himself to his feet smoothly. A small apartment, _very_ nicely-furnished, and someone in black robes sitting at the kitchen counter. Remus pointed his wand. "Who are you?"

"Shut up, Lupin," the man replied wearily, without turning.

It took a moment to recognise the voice. "Severus?" Remus lowered his arm, blinking in confusion. Possible scenarios ran through his mind; the first was that Voldemort had found out about Severus and this was some kind of prison – _no, there'd be no reason for me to be here, and they left me with my wand._ He padded softly across the carpet to the counter. "What's going on?"

Severus glanced up at him. He was dressed in the rich, deeply-cowled black robes of the Death Eaters, the hood pushed back. He looked paler than Remus remembered. "Can't you guess?"

Remus saw that there was only one chair, which Severus was occupying, and there were keys on the counter. "I… think I can." His first thought had been correct, then; Severus was the Death Eater assigned to interrogate him, only he wasn't doing it.

"Good. You'll have to stay here another hour." Severus reached for the tray on the edge of the counter, pushed cup and saucer across the polished surface. "Make your own tea if you want it. And your own chair."

Remus transfigured a small cabinet in the living room for a chair, carried it to the counter and made tea, more for something to do than because he wanted it. He dimly noted that the cup was fine porcelain, and matched the saucer. There was just one of each. _So, maybe they thought he'd get thirsty halfway through?_ It wasn't out of the ordinary, not for Death Eaters, but Remus had never really been in a position to admire the furniture before. "Who _owns_ this place? It's a… strange place for… "

"… information retrieval?" Severus looked in the direction of the kitchen windows, their curtains drawn. "The old families probably own half of Wizarding England. It's meant to disorient. To… rub your noses in our aristocracy." He shrugged.

_Literally, I suppose._ Remus stared down at the steaming cup in front of him. "What were you supposed to find out?"

"The Potters. The Longbottoms. How much you know. What you're doing."

In other words, nothing very much. Remus thought that perhaps this sort of thing happened now not because they were useful, but because of the terror it caused. _A man disappearing off the street, just like that. And then reappearing a while later, a broken heap. It could happen to anybody._

He stirred the tea and sipped. It was excellent, which didn't surprise Remus. It was Severus, leaning his chin on one hand, elbow on the counter, staring at nothing in particular, who didn't seem to fit in with all these symbols of self-assured aristocracy. Severus had always been thin but not as thin as Remus; now he looked as though he might possibly be thinner. _Not eating enough, not sleeping enough. What does he go through?_ "Severus… what happens if you don't deliver?"

Another shrug. "You don't need to know."

Remus noticed the tension in his jaw. _And you don't want to speak of it._ He decided not to pursue the matter. "Thanks."

Severus turned, startled. "What?"

"Thank you," Remus repeated, firmly. "For the fact that I'm not bleeding all over the carpet right now."

Severus rolled his eyes. "You're not escaping unscathed, Lupin. I need to break a few bones before I let you go."

"Yes, I _know._ I meant – look, hasn't anyone thanked…" Remus trailed off. Severus was staring at him, eyes dark and somehow terrible. "What's wrong?"

Severus looked away. "There isn't anyone else."

Remus tried to make sense of this. "I don't understand."

He watched Severus push himself to his feet and move to the window, leaning against the wall and peering absently between the curtains. There was nothing to look at, probably; he was doing this for the same reason Remus was drinking tea. "Very few people on… your side… know that I work for Professor Dumbledore. The Dark Lord believes that I no longer do, after…" Severus stopped, tried again. "I can't afford for him to find out."

"Then why – ?" _Why do this for me?_

"Because," Severus said wearily, "Dumbledore spoke to you when I changed sides."

Remus blinked. _Gratitude?_ He'd spoken up for Severus, almost two years ago, telling Dumbledore that he could be trusted and needed this second chance. Then he understood. _Not gratitude. I already know too much._ If anyone could get _that_ story out of him, it would make no difference whether or not they also found out Severus had spared him one torture session.

"I've been… demoted, I think," Severus continued, softly. "I brew potions now, and this… what they call information retrieval. I'm… I'm a very _good_ Death Eater, Lupin. I do most of what I'm told to, no less adequately than anyone else. And I still give the Dark Lord the odd piece of intelligence, just to keep him interested. _Correct_ intelligence." He paused. "Do you understand? That for Voldemort I can be replaced easily now, but for Dumbledore I can't?"

Remus stared at him. _No wonder he doesn't get enough sleep._

Severus met his gaze. "There isn't much of a difference between what I did then and what I do now, Lupin. Don't thank me. I'm just a professional traitor."

There didn't seem to be anything else to say. Severus kept quiet, and Remus drank his tea. When he was finished Severus made inquiries about his weight and how quickly he recovered from injuries while he wiped away fingerprints and replaced the cabinet Remus had been using for a chair, gave him something that would eliminate all sensation for five minutes before disappearing from his bloodstream, and carefully explained what he was going to do.

Then he methodically hit Remus in the face and stomach, broke two fingers and crushed his left ankle, dislocated one shoulder, pressed a silver Sickle to the back of his neck under his collar until Remus could smell the burning flesh even if he couldn't feel it, and sent him back.

He'd timed it very well. Remus passed out the moment he hit the pavement.

.

Severus still dreamed of Dementors, sometimes. It was worst when they pulled back their hoods to show the faces of people who had thought he was on their side and then found out what he'd done. Evan Rosier's honest smile, Lucius Malfoy's smirk. Red-eyed Lord Voldemort. Dumbledore.

And Remus Lupin. Severus wished he hadn't seen the look of shocked understanding on his face earlier that day, the realisation that Severus did this sort of thing on a daily basis. It wasn't something he'd forget in a hurry.

That silver burn he'd given the werewolf would last at least three weeks, perhaps longer.

He sat up, leaned against the bedstead, and stared into the darkness.

Severus had considered very carefully before going to Professor Dumbledore. He didn't want to die, especially not in Azkaban, but two years of working around Voldemort and the Death Eaters had convinced him that he also did not want to see these people in charge. Not Avery, Nott, or Wilkes, who would probably manage to eat, drink, and screw themselves to death in a matter of years. Not Macnair, who loved violence for its own sake. Severus didn't like small children, but watching how Macnair killed them had still made him throw up and given him insomnia for almost a month.

Voldemort, the Dark Lord himself, was insane. Severus had known this from the moment he told him that he was going to pass information both ways and that Dumbledore would think that Severus was actually working for him. A sane man would have seen immediately that there was nothing to prevent Severus from lying.

Voldemort thought it was hilarious.

It was true, though, that Severus was an archetype. Everyone in Hogwarts during his time there had seen him battle the Marauders, usually losing. There was no reason why he should be working for Dumbledore. And Dumbledore, too, knew this, so that when Severus spoke to him, quietly, of how he was sick of the pointless violence and the aristocratic arrogance, and that he didn't really care for Muggles but there was a difference between that and wanting to massacre them, Dumbledore had listened to it all and then said that he would think about it.

He'd thought about it for two weeks, which Severus spent in Azkaban, and when Dumbledore finally came to see him he was told that he was too late, the boy had lost his mind.

Some more weeks passed, which Severus did not remember. When he eventually returned to work he started marking essays with green ink instead of red, and nobody in the quarters next to his – Flitwick, and Minerva McGonagall – commented on the screaming at night.

_At least,_ Severus thought, absently rubbing his left arm, _I don't scream anymore._

He'd told Voldemort, who had heard about his time in Azkaban, that he was out of the Order. It had been an airtight story, at least, and Severus was still the best potions-brewer around, so he'd got off lightly. But nothing had been quite the same after that.

He'd been broken apart and, somehow, been glued back together. This meant, Severus told himself, that he was already a dead man walking. The worst was over, he could do anything now.

_Say it some more. You might even believe it._

He lay down and tried to get back to sleep.

.

Severus, Remus thought, seemed to look worse every time he saw him. This was the third, and Severus sat as always with one elbow on the table – it was a dining table this time; Severus had probably been correct about the Death Eaters owning half of Wizarding England – jaw supported by the base of his palm. His eyes had already been shut for some time.

Remus took off his coat, balled it up, and slid it carefully across the table. When Severus' hand finally slipped he fell face-first onto the coat without waking up.

Remus watched him for some time to make sure he didn't asphyxiate in his sleep, and then regarded his tea, its rising wreaths of steam. Severus was pointedly not making progress on what he kept referring to as information retrieval. Despite himself, Remus was worried.

"What do you _tell_ Voldemort?" he'd asked, at one point. Severus had looked at him and said, "What do you want me to tell him?"

_Nothing, of course._ Remus sipped his tea. It was necessary for Severus to do this, the same way it was necessary for him to send Remus back to London a bloody mess, and Severus dealt with it with the same poker-faced impassivity. He never apologised.

Remus stared at the man currently slumped over the table, his face in Remus' coat. No self-respecting Death Eater would do that. _Severus_ wouldn't have done that, a few years ago.

A few years ago, those black robes he was wearing now probably fit him, instead of hanging loosely across his shoulders.

_What have we done to you?_

It was necessary, Remus thought. Severus understood that better than he ever would.

About twenty minutes later Severus lifted his head from the table, pushed his tangled hair back with one hand and stared down at the coat uncomprehendingly. Then he glanced across the table at Remus. "How long did I sleep?"

"Half an hour."

Severus exhaled softly and slid the coat back across the table. Remus noticed the mottled red mark across his cheekbone where it'd pressed against the wool.

"You can have it for another ten minutes," Remus said.

"No." Severus ran his fingers through his hair, trying to untangle it. "Lupin. I switch assignments from next week onwards."

"I see." No more of this sitting around drinking the Death Eaters' tea, then. Remus almost smiled. _It's really very good tea._

Severus frowned at him. "You don't see. We've had your name for too long; it's been shunted from recruitment to information retrieval to…"

_To whatever the euphemism is for execution._ "Ah." Remus stood up, watching Severus briskly remove any trace of his having been there. He never let Remus help him clean up.

"His name is Roland Winthrop," Severus said quietly, while wiping Remus' side of the table with his sleeve. "He's very careless; there will be evidence if the Ministry searches his family manor."

There was a short pause while Severus restored Remus' chair to its original state and carried it back. "Your information is in his study desk. There is no main copy. Once it's confiscated your name will be out of our files."

Remus blinked. Severus picked up his coat from the table and held it out to him silently. "Severus," Remus said, slowly, "Why is there no main copy?"

Severus glanced up at the ceiling. Remus realised that he wasn't supposed to have asked. "Because I stole it."

"Oh." Remus took the coat and shrugged it on. There was, of course, a pragmatic reason for all this. Removing Remus from the list meant that there was less chance of retrieving the memory of Severus' own transferred loyalties and, if questioned, it would undoubtedly be the reason Severus produced.

Severus removed a vial from his pocket and placed it in Remus' hands. "This produces the aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse – muscle tics, nervousness, nausea, cold sweat – for about half a day."

"You could make a fortune out of these things," Remus remarked. He swallowed the contents. "Severus?"

"Yes?"

"If it hadn't been somebody else…" He said this lightly, as though it didn't really matter. _If it hadn't been somebody expendable, who could simply be arrested…_

Severus' features showed the usual dour lack of expression. "Yes. It would be necessary."

_I know._ "Be careful, Severus."

Severus pointed to the round stone on the floor, as if he hadn't heard. "That Portkey's set to send you back."

Remus picked up the stone, noticing that his hands were already clammy and beginning to weaken – the potion was already working – closed his fingers around it firmly, and left.

_ End

* * *

Notes:_

Um, that last part? Nobody seems to get it until I explain. The 'somebody else' Remus is referring to is Roland Winthrop, and the implied question is, actually, what would have happened if it was Severus that got saddled with, ah, termination duty (yes, that's my euphemism for execution). To which the answer is yes, Severus would simply have done as he was told. I'm very sorry. I understand that it lacks finesse, but I was unwilling to spell it out because I honestly think it would have compromised characterisation; I don't believe Remus could say or even think this out directly.

It's very important to note that Remus and Severus have never been and will never be friends. I think it is, however, possible to build some kind of weird rapport from having been enemies for years. Severus is not a sadist at heart, and he's so involved in the war that his schooldays must sometimes seem as if they belonged to someone else. He doesn't have the energy to work up much hatred for Remus here.

My Severus seems sometimes to have strayed very far from Rowling's, but there is evidence that Professor Snape is rather more mature than he lets on. Despite the fool Slytherin pride and how he gets along horribly with most if not all the people on Dumbledore's side, Severus was able to admit that, if nothing else, Voldemort in charge was a bad idea. More than that, he was able to admit that he'd been wrong. Sirius, certainly, never managed this little feat regarding the Trick. It should also be realised that even though Harry irritates the hell out of him, Professor Snape still saves him something like once every book.

It's necessary, you see.

Also? That one last similarity between Severus and Remus: about a decade after Remus entered Hogwarts, Severus finally got his second chance. It's only a superficial similarity because Severus willingly became a Death Eater at age seventeen whereas Remus got bitten by a werewolf as a child, but it's still interesting and it still makes sense for Remus to have been consulted – he is, after all, a precedent. I don't think it happened, but.

(I'm actually also fairly sure Severus was not sent to Azkaban, because then he shouldn't be quite so detached about siccing Dementors on Sirius. Again, but.)

References: Evan Rosier is a nod to the observation in Small Gods_ (Pratchett) that every profession, no matter how horrible, can probably be staffed by absolutely normal, decent people who are simply doing their job. And Severus' death-and-rebirth is, for no good reason whatsoever, adapted from a quote from Sylvia Plath's 'Daddy' – 'they pulled me out of the sack / And stuck me together with glue.'_

The title. I had to title this something_ to place it online, and I called it what I did because that's what it is: a pocket of quiet, in a very bloody war. It cannot and does not last; in the long run it hardly means anything at all. It's just something that happens._

It's actually also an obscure reference to one of my other fics, but it's sort of a private joke.


End file.
